Why did they Stop the Triwizard?
by AnneAquila
Summary: There Triwizard Tournament of 1792 is shrouded in mystery. We know so little of it. But what we do know sends one question through our minds: Why did they Stop the Triwizard?


**A/N:** Hey peeps! It's been a while, but here we are with another crazy fic! This has been submitted for the International Wizarding School Championship. You might want to read the article on Ilvermorny on Pottermore before you read this! Check it out, it's pretty interesting. Also, thank you Maria for being an angel and proof-reading it at the last minute!

* * *

 **Why did they Stop the Triwizard?**

 **By AK**

* * *

 **School** : Beauxbatons

 **Year** : Second year

 **Theme** : Ilvermorny

 **Prompts** :

4\. **Triwizard Tournament - 1792 (last year before being reinstated) [Event] (Main prompt)**

7\. School Trip Abroad to Ilvermorny [Plot point]

13\. "I can't believe that you did that!"_ exclaimed. "Have you gone completely mad?" [Dialogue]

* * *

The evening light filtered through the window, coloring the entire room yellow. The happy chattering of students could be heard through the heavy oaken doors. The only occupant of the room was a matronly old lady with a sharp nose, a sharper tongue and an intelligent twinkle in her eyes.

Isolt Sayre sat at her desk, surrounded by documents. Every so often, she'd scribble a note on a piece of paper with her ink-dipped quill.

It had been a calm day, little out of the ordinary. It was so tranquil that Isolt wondered if the peace would last forever. She mused that it wouldn't be half bad if it did.

Of course, that was when the owl barged in.

* * *

"Good morning Ma'am Morrigan," greeted the students who passed by Isolt on their way to the Assembly Hall.

She nodded to them in reply, the contents of the letter running a mile a minute through her head. As she reached the head table where the other professors stood, they looked over at her, eyes brimming over with caution and excitement.

Within a few minutes, the students seemed to pick up on their agitation and whispered amongst themselves. The humming chatter resembled the buzzing of bees. Isolt smiled to herself, ' _What a perceptive bunch.'_

Her husband James took the podium and greeted the gathering. He looked tired, but a merry twinkle danced in his eyes. The school song was sung, the time tables for the following week were given out, the usual Friday fare. Yet, a pressure seemed to build.

Finally, it was time to close the morning assembly with a word from the Vice-Headmistress. However, instead of the Vice Headmistress Margaret, their headmistress Isolt Sayre stood to speak. The murmur of the crowd rose to a peak. Isolt clapped her hands twice for silence.

"Good morning to all present here," she said, looking warmly over the student body. The noise had died down but it didn't stop a few of the younger students to nudge each other and whisper. Isolt glared at them playfully and continued, "The weather's wonderful and it's a beautiful day so I won't take much of your time."

A few of the upper years groaned. They were old enough to realize that 'not much time' signified a long and droning speech. Isolt chuckled to herself. It may hold true most of the time, but she really did mean to keep it short.

There was much to be done, after all.

"As all those who keep up with the news of our European counterparts would know, the Triwizard Tournament will start in six months time."

It seemed like her students had overactive imaginations as that single sentence was enough to set the cat among the pigeons. Speculations were thrown about like confetti on a child's first birthday.

"The Triwizard? Who doesn't know about it! But what does that have to do with us?"

"I bet that she's going to talk about keeping up to date about World Wizarding news."

"Ooh, what if we're going to Europe!" put in a first-year excitedly. "We're due for a field trip anyways!"

"C'mon, do you even _know_ what kind of resources you'd need? Keep dreaming," scoffed an older student.

"But the other schools get to do it!" was the persistent reply.

After much nagging, a drawn out sigh was heard from an older student. "Look, those schools have existed way longer than we have. And they don't have an ocean separating them, ya know?"

"And they have influence, influence!" chimed in another, "Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have produced the best witches and wizards of their countries. They practically have their ministries in the palm of their hand! But when it comes to us, we can barely get MACUSA to recognize our Headmaster's and Headmistress's marriage. Damn that Rappaport's law."

"I can't believe that they did that!" someone put in. "Have they gone completely mad?"

A few murmured in agreement.

The severe anti-No-Maj policy that MACUSA had implemented just two years ago was a severe sore-spot for the staff and students of Ilvermorny.

"As you all well know, every three years the Tournament is held in the School of the former victor. However, the previous Tournament came to a peculiar end. All the three champions had no choice but to concede their chance of victory due to the harsh climate of Durmstrang.

"At this point, the Tournament holders would tally up the points gained throughout the Tournament in order find the winner, however… it was a draw! Naturally, there was much debate over which school would have the honor of hosting the Tournament this time around. It got so out of hand that there were mentions of suspending the Tournament entirely.

"But this is when my good friend Flamel stepped in. He insisted on holding the Tournament and suggested that… well..." Isolt smiled a smiled full of mystery. "He suggested that they hold it in a neutral place. And the place they decided on, I'm proud to say, was Ilvermorny."

One could practically _hear_ the jaws dropping.

Isolt giggled to herself happily.

It was a fine day.

* * *

Travel over the ocean truly was troublesome.

Apparition over such a long distance would almost certainly lead to splinching. Brooms, dragons and other magical flight devices were a pain in the neck and, unless enchanted to invisibility, unusable in the daytime. The very thought of travelling around 4000 miles by Portkey had wizards green in the face - the short distance ones were bad enough. The Floo network might've been a possibility but the paperwork… bah!

Fortunately, the Heads of the schools had some ideas in mind. As soon as the matter was brought up, a gleam had arisen in each the eyes of each Headmaster and assurance was given that they would arrive at the specified time.

And it was for that reason that the students and staff stood at the makeshift harbor outside the Ilvermorny castle to greet their visitors. Night was turning to dawn and the air was bracing.

Half an hour passed with neither hair nor hide of their guests. Two boys were just debating whether they could sneak back to the castle and into their warm beds without getting caught when one of the boys, John, noticed a small dark figure in the distance.

As it drew closer, They could all see that it was a small boat with a solitary figure leaning against the mast. Some people started whispering among themselves, wondering if a No-Maj fisherman had gone astray and slipped past the magical restrictions.

But that was when the figure seemed to spot the shore. After a bit of fiddling, it sent a red colored burst of magical flame into the air.

"Ah, that would be Durmstrang," said the Headmistress. All the students around her felt a feeling of anti-climax. They murmured in disappointment among themselves. Isolt, however, smiled enigmatically. The small boat drew closer still and one could barely make out the figure tugging on one of the many ropes.

Under astonished eyes, a ship rose up from rough waves, and from the ship alighted the students of Durmstrang. Though they looked cold and haughty, their ranks were strictly disciplined. An old man with an emaciated appearance stood proudly at the front. He was the Headmaster of Durmstrang, Ruslan Maximovich.

Isolt welcomed them with a smile and warm words. Headmaster Ruslan nodded, pleased. It was then that the neighing of horses resounded through the air.

All eyes turned upwards as winged horses swooped in from the sky, pulling along a sleek carriage. The students of Ilvermorny looked on with wide eyes as the carriage pulled up elegantly by the coastline. The silver door opened and a middle aged man descended.

His hair was the color of ripe corn, his smile as blinding as the sun. He was known as Philippe Brodeur, the Headmaster. Following him were the students of Beauxbatons. Many a boy inhaled sharply and many a girl swooned at the sight of the blue clad students. They almost seemed ethereal, not a hair out of place despite their long journey.

All that remained was Hogwarts. After five minutes passed, the crowd settled themselves for a wait. After all, it was pure coincidence that the two schools had arrived within minutes of each other. Refreshments were passed around to the guests and people took this opportunity to socialize.

Still, an eye was kept on the waves and more than one darted curiously to the sky from time to time. Even so, most people missed the first warning signs of their arrival - a fishy smell. However, few people could miss the second one.

There was a shift in the waves.

Cries of surprise rang out as huge ripples tore through the ocean water. It appeared as if a huge underwater monster was emerging from the deep blue. Shouts directed everyone's attention to something that emerged from the middle of the waves.

It was a giant… squid?!

* * *

The next day was filled with excited chatter. The stoic students of Durmstrang, the elegant ones from Beauxbatons and the… er, _quirky_ students of Hogwarts.

The Hogwarts bunch looked worst-off out of the lot. They were sea-sick and motion-sick and bruised all over. It so happened that they had been driven off course by a Kraken who had mistaken the automated squid to be a live one. It wasn't surprising - many had thought the same. Luckily, Headmistress Pandora Williams had stepped in and managed to get things back under control. They been taken into the castle to be fed, watered, and rested.

And now, it was time for the Choosing of Champions. The students of the three schools wrote their names on little slips of paper and fed it to the Goblet of Fire. Each time a slip was given, the fire flickered blue.

Naturally, there were a few smart alecs from Ilvermorny who tried to sneak their names in, but it was all for naught. While their fates weren't as bad as those of Fred and George Weasley, it was close enough.

That evening after dinner, the students all gathered in the Assembly Hall to see the three chosen. Of those who had submitted their names, some had their heads bowed, some were glancing about nervously and some stood stock still.

The fire flashed green and a piece of paper fluttered out.

"Polina Yakovna of Durmstrang!"

A stocky young woman of seventeen came to the front amidst the clapping of her peers. Her face was slightly flushed with excitement and she allowed a slight smile as she rushed into the room next door.

Another flash, another slip.

"Fabien Droz of Beauxbatons!"

A cold looking young man of nineteen went up to the stage accompanied by polite clapping from his school and enthusiastic clapping from his many admirers. He bowed slightly to the Headmasters and retreated into the room.

Finally, it was Hogwarts. The students waited with much anticipation.

A final flash, much weaker than the other two.

"Elliot Thrush of Hogwarts!"

A 'meep' sounded from the Hogwarts section and all eyes fell on a small boy who could hardly be fifteen. Under the disbelieving eyes of the crowd, he hesitantly made his way to the front. The looks on the Headmasters' eyes were of encouragement and pity. He too made his way into the adjoint room.

And so the ceremony came to an end.

* * *

The first challenge took place in the forest. Seventeen chests had been buried under marshy ground and the competitor who found the most would gain the first place. Polina from Durmstrang secured first place, followed by Elliot and then Fabien.

Polina had taken the brash route, leveling the land and blasting craters. Elliot had taken a more conservative approach, trying to find traces of magical energy before using various spells to bring them out. Fabien would have done much better if only he had deigned to touch the mud. But since he refused, not much could be done and was allowed to continue with zero points.

The second challenge took place within the castle itself. Seven vials were given to the competitors, along with a complicated riddle to identify which contained poisons and which contained beneficial potions like the Pepper-Up Potion.

The riddle was so complex that it had taken Polina an entire hour to figure half of it out. Finally, she had identified and ingested the Confusing Concoction and, before anyone could stop her, consumed the rest in her mind-addled state. Elliot happened to have a liking for potions and had managed to select the Hiccuping Potion after much deliberation. It was a close call as his hand had drifted dangerously near to one of the nastier ones, the Highjinx potion. But Fabien was the true star as he had merely glanced at the riddle for a moment before his quick mind figured out the true solution. He was awarded full points.

And so, in a surprising reversal, Fabien came first, Elliot came second and Polina was withdrawn from the competition as she was in extremely poor health.

It so happened that the two remaining competitors had tied perfectly. The third round would be a tie-breaker. Bets were placed and unsurprisingly, Fabien was a clear favorite. Still, there were some musings whether the Tournament would end in a draw this year as well.

And perhaps it would have.

If not for the cockatrice.

* * *

The Heads of the schools looked on with a mixture of amusement and concern as Elliot held on to the cockatrice for dear life. At one point of time, Headmistress Pandora even chuckled at her student's screams. Isolt looked towards her, incredulous. "I can't believe that you did that!" she exclaimed. "Have you gone completely mad?"

Madam Pandora simply shrugged.

"What can I say? That boy will be the death of me."

Ruslan looked disgruntled. "A puny child," he muttered.

Philippe looked at Ruslan with a faint air of smugness. "Are you annoyed that your Champion lost before the last battle?"

Isolt sighed inwardly at the rivalry that had developed between the two heads. She wryly mused to herself that the only reason that Pandora wasn't caught up in it was because her Champion seemed… mediocre. However, Isolt thought, looking at the boy who was nearly moved to tears, He's still holding onto it- that takes guts.

Of course, his fingers might just be frozen stiff from fear.

Either or.

* * *

A representative of MACUSA slid into the seat next to her.

Isolt, being the mature old lady she was, pretended that he didn't exist.

The man cleared his throat and introduced himself, "Skyrim Bottle, Junior Department head of the Augery section of the Anti-frat-"

"What is it?" cut in Isolt, anger pricking at her nerves.

"I'll make it short," said Bottle, aware of their foreign guests, "It's about your interaction with the No-Maj individual James Steward, Ms. Isolt Sayre-"

"It's Mrs. Isolt Boots," cut in Isolt coolly.

Mr. Bottle looked at her with thinly-veiled disdain, "Yes. As you well know, your actions are a direct contradiction to the Rappaport's law of 1790. You are hereby summoned by the Magical Congress of the United States of America for a hearing-"

Madam Pandora coughed lightly. "What is this all about?" she asked in a steady voice.

Philippe and Ruslan took a break from arguing to look over as well.

"Is he troubling you, Mademoiselle?" asked Philippe, looking deceptively mild. Ruslan on the other hand didn't bother to hide his aggression. When he had been young, he had been known as the Lion of the North, famous for his killing intent. And he had had a very, very bad month.

Mr. Boots sweat dropped.

In truth, MACUSA had been walking on eggshells around Isolt Sayre. While she had blatantly ignored the warnings they'd sent her, they could do little against her. What more, the whispered rumors of Slytherin's heritage had them nervous. They had almost decided to turn a blind eye when the Tournament came up.

Isolt Sayre was as headstrong as she was old, and as strong as she was cunning. MACUSA didn't dare to try apprehending her without her consent. They might succeed, but there was no telling what the cost may be. They didn't dare take the students hostage- the public outrage would be a catastrophe. They'd hoped that she'd be more malleable with dignitaries from the other schools around…

But it looks like they'd underestimated the eccentricity of Headmasters in general. What more, they seemed to get along and well, _birds of a feather..._

Just as Mr. Bottle was about to make a hasty retreat, a high pitched wail sounded in his ears.

Three Headmasters and one Government official turned around just in time to see a cockatrice barreling towards them at full speed.

Right before they were sent flying.

A cloud of dust arose. When it settled, the crowd could see that the cocktrice had the letter 'H' written on the side. It was Hogwart's victory. The underdog had won. But no one made a sound. A pin-drop silence filled the area.

It was broken by Fabien Droz who hadn't made a peep even after breaking three of his rib bones. Nursing his left side, he staggered to his feet to look at Elliot who was lying flat on his back, exhausted.

"I can't believe that you did that!" Fabien exclaimed. "Have you gone completely mad?"

Elliot said nothing, staring bleakly into the middle distance. His eyes appeared dead.

And this was why they stopped the Triwizard Tournament.


End file.
